


i knew you

by sailingthroughemotion



Series: shangella [2]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, FtLoSW, angella and light spinner were gf's at some point, au where angella is rescued from the void some years after that, au where shadow weaver doesn't die, but i feel like if you're in this tag already then what are you expecting, but ladies do be pretty and kinda high key pining, i don't know where to start with tagging this, if you're into angella/micah you might not like this, is this out of character? it might be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24589978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthroughemotion/pseuds/sailingthroughemotion
Summary: now in a place where she's not too sure what she's supposed to do next, the once-queen angella finds herself lingering on memories of the all-too distant past (and desperately, desperately trying to recapture them)
Relationships: Angella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Series: shangella [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129976
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84





	1. .:1:.

What do you do with a spare queen?

Glimmer’s coronation had commenced without a hitch - she had settled into her duties as the queen quite nicely. Upon Micah’s return, he was permitted power as a commanding officer and as a court sorcerer. With the war over, he retained the latter. Shadow Weaver, dragged out of the rubble and once more denied the true trial of death, continued to serve a similar function as before: a knowledgeable courtyard pet - superfluous in wisdom, but invaluable in skill. But Angella - beloved, deathless Angella - what was anybody supposed to do with her? Her connection to the Moon Opal had been severed once Glimmer was crowned, meaning her magical prowess was considerably subdued - the only power she was really left with was flight. Her mortality was of a questionable state but it wasn’t like anyone was planning to test any theories. Do you keep her as a commanding officer? The Horde’s dissolved and there’s no impending threat - her political power or strategic capabilities had become largely irrelevant.

But no one can say that to her face, can they? You can’t insult someone like that, when they lived and existed long before any of them were even conceived… 

She was somewhat of a curiosity now. To most, anyway. She became a living, breathing history book on the affairs of Etheria. And Angella, as distant and other-worldly as she always seemed to have been, considered even that to be a rather unfavorable existence - to be treated like a memory bank, like property.

Glimmer offered time and time again to let her mother re-establish her connection to the Runestone, but the logistics and political morality of that was something Angella could not accept. Glimmer was a queen that served her kingdom on the frontlines, and that would hypothetically open up a position for somebody to man the fort at Bright Moon, but Micah was already more than willing to play that role - he was like-minded in Glimmer’s approaching to ruling and could easily do so in her image. Angella would’ve obviously wished to do things her way and petty internal conflicts just when the dust was finally settling was the last thing Bright Moon and Etheria needed.

But what  _ do  _ you do with a spare queen?

What does a spare queen do with herself?

Surely, it would mean complete retirement - dawdling by her husband’s side and aimlessly basking in the light of day or night. Catra seemed content with that position alongside Adora. But it wasn’t quite the same story here. Years of separation, guilt, and begrudging acceptance only made Angella tentative and awkward. She wanted only the best for Micah and for Glimmer and for the kingdom, and she found herself unable to fit anywhere within that dynamic. Glimmer had never had two parents, not consciously, and any attempts to establish such a familial bond at this point, were pretty futile. Glimmer seemed to trust and sometimes confided in Angella, but Micah was her everything now. He was the one that could teach her magic, take her on adventures, they had plenty of common interests. Angella found nothing wrong with it, but very sadly accepted the fact that that was something she couldn’t be - not anymore. Because in a similar fashion as Angella had come to stand separate from Micah, his memory a point of guidance to her, Glimmer had come out of her mother’s shadow - grateful for her sacrifice, but steadily marching on.

And so, Angella had come to the habit of sleeping alone - assuring herself that distance was ideal, her return unnecessary - and it was a bitter, terrible thing, no matter if this had been the status quo for an unmentionable number of hundreds of years. In solitude, comes self-examination and remembrance, and with it, the absent-minded wandering of the grounds. Namely, the gardens.


	2. .:2:.

“Your wings have lost their shimmer,” a low, raspy voice made itself known one early morning.

“I assure you they haven’t lost their ability to knock someone off their feet,” Angella didn’t give the sorceress the satisfaction of turning around.

“Oh, they are still beautiful, don’t get me wrong.”

Angella flinched, spun around. Shadow Weaver chuckled. “Don’t you think it’s rather too early in the morning for… for whatever this is?”

“I find that long days and brief nights suit me better - you don’t exactly get a lot of sleep, knowing how indiscernible slipping into dreams is from dying,” Shadow Weaver said, her eyes squinting from behind the mask. It was new, polished, finely-crafted - the same red and black that was so sharp against Bright Moon’s marble tones. Angella wondered why she still wore the thing - was there anything left to hide?

“I suppose you’re right,” Angella let her shoulders fall, her fists unclench. No, there was still something left -  _ her _ . Despite all turmoil and tests of loyalty, Shadow Weaver did not seem at all on board with the mortifying ordeal of being known. Angella had known, once. But back then, even before, at the very least she knew her eyes. She wondered if they were still the same… 

“So, how’s the old queen spending her retirement?” Shadow Weaver tilted her chin down so that her eyes could be directed up, as barely perceptible as it was with the mask.

“You do not get to call me old,” Angella scoffed.

“Perhaps - considering time has not been as kind to me as it has to you…” 

There was a moment of hesitation. Angella noticed it. What was it there for? Was Shadow Weaver going to call her something? Her wings twitched. Was  _ Light Spinner  _ going to call her something?  _ You still remember though, don’t you?  _ Angella wanted to say - but even the tenderness in that pause in Shadow Weaver’s words was too much. If it were to steer further along such a path, Angella would admit to losing her composure. “What do they call you now?” Angella cleared her throat.

“Etheria hasn’t heard the name ‘Light Spinner’ for a generation or two, if that’s what you’re wondering… to everyone here I’m ‘the sorceress’. To my children, I’m still Shadow Weaver.” There was a haughty cock of the head that said: what, do you have a problem with it? Angella could almost see that challenging smile.

“Do you prefer it?”

Now it was Shadow Weaver’s turn to flinch. Usually what she wanted wasn’t exactly a point of contention on anyone’s agenda. She found herself eternally grateful for the mask, then - it would've been an unsensibly vulnerable moment. “Would you like to call me something else? Found a name more fitting for my sins, hm?” she taunted. She did not, however, expect Angella to play.

“I may find myself in need of something more brief,” Angella blinked slowly, just to watch Shadow Weaver’s eyes grow wide. “Light Spinner, Shadow Weaver… it’s all a bit of a mouthful.” The immortal found herself smiling in a way in which she hadn’t smiled in years and years. Shadow Weaver may be wearing a mask, but it’s not the eyes you must watch for a reaction in moments like these - the sorceress’s ears were gently quivering. 

“It really is rather too early in the morning, don’t you think?” Shadow Weaver cast her gaze to the side, defeated at her own test of the water.

Angella swallowed nervously, hoping that Shadow Weaver didn’t see. This was already too much - too soon, anyway. Angella scolded herself - wasn’t this woman once the enemy? Shouldn’t she still be faithful, morally at the very least? And yet that aloof immortal part of her tried to sweep it all aside - as if it didn’t matter, as if to remind her that unlike some people, she had all the time in the world.

“I must excuse myself, A--...” 

Just the breath of the first syllable was both impossibly painful and outrageously intoxicating. Angella closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath as Shadow Weaver, almost on purpose, brushed her shoulder on her way past. They would drive each other mad, surely, if the ghosts of the past were still this poignant.

And really, it unraveled Shadow Weaver just as much - it didn’t sit right with her, the amount of bite with which Angella had said ‘mouthful’.


	3. .:3:.

That morning in the garden made Angella feel lighter somehow, and yet simultaneously more grounded. Guilt was replaced by semi-gleeful childlike embarrassment, and time seemed to have resumed its course in a steady day-by-day. Reminiscing on a grander scheme that’d reach into pondering the patterns of the cosmos was tied down to reliving amusing anecdotes of relatively recent history. 

Angella had known a very young Light Spinner, and she’d known the sorceress of Mystacor in due time. But she’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t been somewhat infatuated with the Light Spinner that came between. The Light Spinner that wandered Etheria in search of libraries and shrines, scholars and tutors. The wild-eyed, energetic Light Spinner that alongside having her face covered, had her tangles of raven black hair tied back into a flowing tail, the one that argued and debated anyone that dared to look at her the wrong way, that could be found smoking, drinking, and brawling in a tavern and not at all afraid of getting kicked in the teeth. 

Angella could only assume that Light Spinner found her composure somewhere along her travels and studies - but those few years at Bright Moon were certainly memorable, and she was certainly glad that Light Spinner hadn’t found her composure just yet, then. She had been reported as a public nuisance, a phenomenon unheard of in Bright Moon at the time. An unacceptable phenomenon. The aloof, alien presence of Angella, eyes glazed by acceptance of a less than turbulent immortal life, awoke that day, as the furiously emerald-eyed stranger cried out: “You have beautiful wings!”

Angella divulged more about Bright Moon and Etheria as a whole through those four years to Light Spinner than to her own daughter, whom she saw to the personal educating and raising of for the girl’s entire childhood. Angella had been unabashedly fascinated by the vigour, the hunger - there was never a hint of hesitance or fear. When most mortals found Angella dull and strict, Light Spinner would make a game out of prodding and provoking her, enticing and challenging her, doing anything that her rugged sorceress hands could to get a reaction out of her. She’d called her A--

No. Angella couldn’t. She wouldn’t. That was already too much. She had gotten used to being called something similar now - “Angie”. Now, she considered, it stopped holding as much weight.

“Mom, are you alright?” Glimmer gently touched her mother’s forearm. 

Angella realized how she’d looked - she had froze, one hand ponderously over her mouth. “Totally fine,” she offered her daughter a reassuring smile.

“You’ve been kind of out of it all throughout dinner,” Glimmer furrowed her brow. “A couple of guards told me you’d been talking to Shadow Weaver a few days ago - she’s not trying anything with you, is she?”

“Have a little more faith in your mother,” Micah waved his hand, dismissively but his voice held a note of nerves. Angella’s eyes shot up at him rather rapidly - he didn’t _know,_ did he? It was something she’d never told him… him, the man she had a child with. An embarrassing circumstance, to be sure, but an unwavering one.

“Do you have guards trailing after me?” Angella shifted the subject back to what pressed her more.

“I know this is your home, mom, but you can never be too careful…” Oh, so, she wasn’t even going to lie about it? How ruthless. “...I just don’t want to lose you again.” No, she was. It had nothing to do with loss, Angella knew that. Returning to her immortal, withdrawn element while being stuck in what could only be described as the void made her go fuzzy from time to time - she’d wander in a sleepwalking-esque state and that often meant walking into walls, unknowingly eavesdropping on meetings. Glimmer was just making sure that in her eternal age, the past queen wasn’t going senile. But that hadn’t happened for weeks now - was talking to Shadow Weaver treated as such behavior?  
She was insulted, and rather deeply at that, but she wouldn’t let it show - the two had enough on their plates as it was.

As quickly as she snapped awake, Angella drifted back - there was nothing constructive for her to say. She could only count the minutes until she could retreat to her chambers with just the slightest bounce in her step and her chin aloft a centimeter higher than usual, a retrace of a way in which she acted back then… 

Because Light Spinner’s tactics had worked. Never had Angella experienced such a range of emotions as she had back then, and never again had she been privy to seeing the world with the same wonder and fervor as Light Spinner had made her see it.

But was she even remotely the same? A young, timid Light Spinner that Angella politely smiled at at a sorcery student showcase was different than the poised, stoic teacher of her husband-to-be, a largely dissimilar creature to the adventure-ravished wanderer, and entirely unrecognizable as Shadow Weaver. She had always been shifting from form to form, whichever way life took her. Now, even if life had given her a reasonably comfortable place to land, Angella couldn’t tell exactly where she’d shifted. _It’s just the mask,_ Angella figured. _Hopefully_.


	4. .:4:.

Light Spinner was secretive of her face from a young age, Angella had noticed. Even the little girl that concentrated her whole heart on a spark charm would only disclose the appearance of her eyes. She guessed it was some kind of parental paranoia, instilled and indoctrinated. Those years at Bright Moon proved her right. As much bravado as the Light Spinner of then had, she would freak out if anyone so much as tugged on her face covering - the covering of choice, befitting of her rebel nature, was a bandana. 

Angella’s curiosity captured, however, the queen would begin her own games in hopes of seeing her guest’s full face.

It’d taken six months and a crash course on flirting and courting, but in an exhausted stupor, Light Spinner had agreed under the condition that the room was dark and that Angella had to take her gloves off, both of them things that were a fair trade as Angella was hesitant to admit she loathed the dark and that her gloves were always a public symbol of her purity. Light Spinner had raised an eyebrow and reasoned: “Well, we’re not in public now, huh, A--”

Angella frustratedly dove down from the window sill she’d been perchin on in her quarters. No, if she so much as imagined the intonation of Light Spinner’s voice around those syllables, she’d lose it. She wasn’t quite sure what ‘losing it’ entailed yet, but she was sure that it was indecent, even if she was no longer the queen.

She had actually tasked herself with reading a book - a new one, for a change, recently written, recounting the construction of society within the Crimson Waste. She prided herself in having ready every single book in Bright Moon, and so, newer literature was often hard to come by, but even now, presented with such a chance, she couldn’t focus. Not on the book.  _ At least you’re focused on  _ some _ thing _ , she reasoned with herself. It was certainly an improvement from wandering the grounds in an apathetic fog. 

No longer being the queen meant that she could actually spend time on personal leisure affairs without being pressed about any urgent matters or taking her image into consideration. The dramatic high-heeled boots were gone, along with the elbow-length gloves, the outfit was now considerably more athletic. Whenever she felt like it, she could  _ fly _ . 

Flying was really all that was left of her at this point. She couldn’t channel any magic, sense any disturbances throughout the parts of the realm under the Moon Opal’s protection with the tips of her feathers - no, now they were just wings. And she had plans to treat them as such.

Whenever she finally felt like herself, and after her morning run-in in the garden, she felt as such quite often, she’d find any excuse to launch herself in the air. Even in the castle, whenever she was sure there were no eyes on her, she’d glide along a ceiling, swoop and spin her way down a spiral staircase and shoot out of an appropriately sized window. Her reputation was inconsequential, sure, but when you live as long as that, you start to be rather protective of your dignity. 

She landed on the dome of a veranda and spread herself across it, basking in the afternoon warmth, recalling strings of childhood deep within her memory. She had parents once, as most people did. These parents, too, had been immortal. Immortal until dismantled, obviously. Ageless did not mean impenetrable, and that was where that notion of dignity, so rigidly instilled in her heart stayed. She was convinced that you had to fool the world into thinking she was both. Once. 

Had there been dignity, though, in drawing the blinds that evening, in willing the many crystal lamps to go out? Had there been dignity in dragging her gloves off with her teeth and her intentionally hooded eyes? In raising her wings overhead and wrapping them in a loose protective shield around herself and Light Spinner, in cupping her head in her hands and feeling her shiver all over? And was there dignity in her face then once Light Spinner had slowly pulled down that bandana, revealing a perfectly structured, unassuming face?

“What are you hiding?” Angella mouthed the question even now, her mind lax and eyes trailing the length of the garden. Even in the dark then, Angella could tell that Light Spinner had no reason to hide herself - and that was when she’d taken Angella’s hands, guided them to her cheeks, and invited her to trace her lips with her thumb.

“Kiss me and you’ll find out, A--”

Angella let out a yelp as she felt herself free-falling. She hit the ground, and as immaculately soft and even as the grass was, she hit the ground hard. 

“Falling from grace, are we?” a haughty voice sounded above her. Shadow Weaver outstretched her hand.

“How much of that did you see?” Angella frowned, taking it. It was as if electricity coursed through her. Even through fingerless gloves whose function was to mute and grip when it came to maneuvering, she could feel how warm Shadow Weaver was, how calloused, how familiar. 

“Seeing you fly is always a pleasure.” 

So, she saw all of it. Shadow Weaver brushed her thumb over Angella’s palm - a precise and deliberate movement. They let go of each other without any particular agitation.

“I imagine my daughter’s going to have a field-day with this,” Angella complained, glaring at a guard by the entrance of the gardens that was clearly out of place in the usual security arrangement. 

“Not a fan of intense surveillance, are we?” Shadow Weaver let out a huff of air through her nose in bemusement.

“No, not particularly,” Angella placed her hands on her hips and stretched out her back muscles this way and that.

“I like the wardrobe change.” The tiniest tilt in Shadow Weaver’s chin meant that Angella had just been ‘checked out’, as the kids would put it.

“I can’t imagine I can expect the same from you, can I?”

“The dress is lighter, the mask is new - not enough for you?”

Angella tried her best not to let on that she’d undress Shadow Weaver with her eyes if she could. No, not Shadow Weaver. She didn’t  _ know  _ Shadow Weaver. She knew Light Spinner. But… “Your hair. Doesn’t it get in the way at all?”

“The mask helps some,” Shadow Weaver shrugged, but self-consciously brushed a few strands behind her ears. “Feeling nostalgic, are we?”

“Perhaps a bit. I haven’t got much else to occupy myself with.”

“Am I not interesting enough for you anymore…?” 

The pause was back. The teasing, weighty pause.

“No - I mean, yes - I… you’ve never failed to fascinate me,” Angella hoped she didn’t offend. Her modern, calculated self told her that it didn’t matter - Shadow Weaver was a prisoner of war for some time, and was still technically confined. But the rest of her, the rest of her very being reminded her that what she’d said wasn’t a lie.

“What does your husband think of this, I wonder?” Was Shadow Weaver testing the water again or pushing her away? It  _ had  _ taken six months to get the bandana off, so, what thirty to forty years later and opposing sides of the war and they’d do away with it all in one afternoon?

“I don’t think my husband has a very high opinion of me anymore.”

An ear twitch. Interest. “Is that so? Micah had always been a lover of light and goodness - aren’t you just that?”

“Twenty years of separation and him having forged a special bond with our daughter has made me fall a few places within the pecking order.” 

Why was she being this vulnerable with her? A habit. It was a second nature. As it was to many, and disastrously so - but things were different now. Surely.

“If you’d ever like to not be shadowed by guards for a change, there’s always my chambers. I’m permitted some privacy.” 

Such a request from a woman in a mask that let on only the barest of intentions and a violent background would usually be interpreted as malevolent. But Angella heard no trickery in Shadow Weaver’s voice. It was almost a full-on invitation, not just a dubious suggestion.


	5. .:5:.

Angella wasn’t sure what she was thinking, having ended up that evening crouching on the window sill outside of Shadow Weaver’s chambers. It was dark - she’d just finished another stilted dinner at which she felt more and more like the unstable prisoner than a reunited member of the family. She’d have to take it up to Micah and Glimmer eventually… or maybe not? Glimmer was preparing for a space mission soon - it wouldn’t do any good to argue while she’s got so many responsibilities, would it? Besides, her own mind was constantly elsewhere.

Angella caught herself again on the thought that being pulled out of the void was a cruel joke, and stopped herself. In a matter of weeks,  _ Queen  _ Angella had all but vanished. There had been a stark change in appearance and certainly in priorities. Her wings couldn’t exactly offer her a magical force field anymore, but they very well still could take her dozens of feet in the air and maneuver the sporadic architecture of the castle - a humble goal was to at least keep them as such. 

After casting a sweeping look across the surrounding Whispering Woods, the sprawling trees swaying gently in the breeze of the dwindling day, she knocked twice on the window pane. The castle, having been designed specifically to allow free flight between any location - obeyed. The pane and glass vanished, letting her dive in.

She landed expertly on her feet, amazed at how dark the room was. She expected no different from Shadow Weaver, and even despite its evening gloo, it was actually a homey space, dotted with thriving potted plants and tables littered with loose chalk and canvases. Lost somewhere in the midst of it all was a four poster bed, positioned quite amusingly in the darkest section of the room. And, somewhere, lost among creeping vines and dusty tender memories, was Shadow Weaver herself.

There hadn’t been any intention for it to ever be this intimate. It had been an invitation, sure, and maybe the desperate thought that this castle finally harbored someone as lonely as her… 

Shadow Weaver watched out of the corner of her eye as Angella maneuvered the clutter. Angella was taller than her, longer and broader, on all accounts but she looked light and graceful now, what with her loose sleeveless blouse and those shorts that hide nothing, befit of perhaps only a teenager but still didn’t take away from the once-queen’s grandiose nature. She walked slowly, tip-toeing, barefoot - youthful, energetic, as Light Spinner had once come to know her.

A creature of such grace, mystique, and seemingly infinite knowledge, but also just so hilariously stubborn and focused, so cagey and competitive… maybe it was just the unruly hair falling over her eyes, tricks of what could only be called light to be polite, but what were the honest chances that Angella -  _ her  _ Angella from those four years was still buried beneath, susceptible to being unearthed? Surely, not  _ that  _ low… 

Shadow Weaver called upon the past infrequently, but as Angella drew closer, all she could think of was that soft dome of glistening feathers around her, of feeling the cool air of dusk wash over her lips, of feeling her own trembling, however-cocky smile.

“Time hasn’t been kind to me,” she whispered a reminder, feeling Angella’s form loom over her. 

“There is nothing I could possibly see that’d change my mind…” Angella confidently brushed her fingers through Shadow Weaver’s hair, traced her jawline with the very ghost of her knuckles, thumbed the sensitive, pointed tips of her ears.

Shadow Weaver caught one of Angella’s wrists, and held it there, taking it in both of her hands, to see if the callousness of her hands would at all scare her. Angella carefully pulled her arm out of grasp and Shadow Weaver felt her heart sink. How unsurprising, the fact that she’d even-- 

“I think it’s only fair if the gloves come off…” Angella paused, the silence thick and palpable, and missing something crucial. “...love.”

Shadow Weaver’s pulse soared. It was so simple, seemingly so inconsequential - surely a pet name that’s befallen many an object of devotion over millennia, but this one in particular, she knew, was for her. She’d heard and seen Angella talk to Micah before, and the queen would always include the addendum that he was hers. Light Spinner hadn’t  _ belonged  _ to Angella by any means - and that made it just all the more binding - to each their own, but ultimately each other’s. 

Shadow Weaver stood up and slowly turned around, brushing the hair out of her face, the mask already discarded, as it often was in private. She went a step further and apparated a hair tie between her fingers and gathered her sprawling locks behind her - a motion so well-rehearsed that even after years of inactivity, she couldn’t ever have forgotten. 

She was scared to meet Angella’s eyes - for once, it was an honest, self-conscious fear. She could not imagine being surprised by any expression that Angella would show - would she be disgusted? Disappointed? Afraid? Apprehensive? And yet she  _ was  _ surprised.

Angella brought one of her bare hands up to Shadow Weaver’s face and began tenderly tracing over the patterns of scars. She made eye-contact - as solid and steadfast as she could - the eyes were certainly different, tainted by after-effects of destructive magic, pupils literally having been fractured, the presence of veins and sleepless nights a secret to no one, but they were still green. Beneath it all, whatever had happened, there was that same summer-grown, verdant reflection. 

And Shadow Weaver was in fact beyond surprised, because Angella’s eyes, her sparkling, deep lavender eyes read only admiration and the same carnal curiosity that they’d held as she’d once asked: “What are you hiding?” Shadow Weaver considered that she was quite tired of hiding, perhaps even more so than she’d been then. 

Needing no other direction, only seeing the soft upward curve of Shadow Weaver’s brow, Angella traced the woman’s lips with her thumb and leaned in ever-so closer. “May I?”

“Of course, Angel,” Shadow Weaver’s voice hit a note of softness and youth, and having heard that little pet name again, seeing it outline on her lips, the twitch of that playful smirk she’d come to know, not only in voice but in likeness, it sent Angella somewhere even her wings couldn’t take her. 

And after so, so long - so, incredibly long, that kiss was a dance of desperation, so pure and so unhinged, Shadow Weaver stepping over whatever fear had held her fast, trailing her hands up from Angella’s hips, along her slim, perfect torso, to cupping her face, even as high above her as she stood; no more words needed to be spoken to deepen that kiss and for Shadow Weaver’s fangs to make themselves known against Angella’s lower lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: as of june 10th, a handful more chapters will have been added! thanks for all of your kind words and support :))  
> -  
> thanks for reading, folks! did you have a good time? i know i did as i sat on my couch and disappeared into the void for four hours straight... if you enjoyed it, would you be interested in a continuation, or perhaps a prequel? originally, this is all i'd ever intended to post, but i've found myself stretching my writing even further, and i think these two have a lot of potential that i may not be exploring to its full extent yet; let me know what you think <3  
> -  
> also, yes, based on screencaps from the finale i have a headcanon that the reason even light spinner wore a face covering was because she's got teef! we don't really see another person of the same race as shadow weaver at any point during the show (and yes, i know why that is, technically speaking) so it made me think if maybe she was just made to feel ashamed of who she was from a young age... and you know, then possibly wanting to prove herself to everyone and i think about "you remind me of myself" a lot okay  
> -  
> also also young, happy-go-lucky, ponytail-wearing light spinner is a hill that i will let my bones rot on


	6. .:6:.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the "saga" continues! apologies in advance for any typos i just wanted to get this out so that the people were fed :')

Well, perhaps it did only take one afternoon. At least to get to a point to which neither of them expected to get. It wasn’t much, but it was a familiarity that they were both grateful for at such a… unique point in their lives.

They’d both remained fully clothed, unscathed, but even the fact that the mask had come off and stayed off was a feat impressive enough on its own. The fact that they’d maneuvered around the room to that shaded four poster bed and settled comfortably onto it, wrapped around each other, and dozed off into an easy sleep was an absolutely commemorable thing; a shame really that neither could bask in the light of their small victory for too long.

A sharp, urgent knock sounded on the door, jerking both of them awake. Angella sighed in disappointment, watching Shadow Weaver summon her mask from across the room. “Would you like to open the door?”

“They’re your chambers, love,” Angella lazily got up and went about straightening her feathers. 

“You might want to be careful calling me that.” Shadow Weaver approached the door unhurriedly, a smile obvious in her voice.

“Where’s my mother?” Glimmer’s sharp, commanding voice rang through the room before Shadow Weaver could even muster a greeting. 

“I’m right here,” Angella sounded off. It felt humiliating - almost as humiliating as the first time she and Light Spinner had been caught in the act by unsuspecting guards, but then again maybe a nook in an open hall was never the wisest of ideas. She felt guilty for making anyone worry, but she dared not show any remorse - confined in her own home or not, she was her own person, deserving of her own personal whereabouts.

“Are you okay?” Glimmer appeared in a flash of glitter in front of her mother, hurriedly examining every part of her. “What are you doing here? Did she kidnap you? We’ve been searching for you all morning…” 

“Actually,” Angella gently pulled her daughter’s hands away. “I came of my own accord.”

Judging by the frozen expression, Glimmer did not compute. “So she  _ has  _ been manipulating you!” The young queen vanished and then materialized in front of Shadow Weaver, clutching the sorceress by the collar. “You’re being kept here as a mercy because I trust my friend’s judgement, witch. Give me  _ one  _ good reason not to lock you up again--” 

“This place is already a prison, your majesty,” Shadow Weaver’s voice ran clear and cold. “And I am not the only one who thinks so.”

Glimmer’s grasp loosened and she glanced at her mother in confusion. For a second, she seemed to have understood, but it was immediately replaced by a second wind of rage. “ _ Don’t  _ make me have patrol guards on you again - because I’m more than willing and you’re not going to like it.”

“Let her go,” Angella stood up, squaring her shoulders.

“She’s just getting under your skin, mom, don’t let her--”

“She’s not doing  _ any _ thing to me, Glimmer, now let. Her. Go.” She narrowed her eyes, tensed her jaw, her voice holding the same royal authority it once had and she took full advantage of it.

Slightly shocked, but obedient, the young queen let her momentary prisoner go, and turned to leave. Angella stood up to go after her. As she passed Shadow Weaver, the sorceress gently grabbed on to Angella’s wrist.

Angella turned to look at her - she could barely read her - but the eyes were wide, the fingers softly shaking. She carefully pried them off, and retaining eye-contact, called out: “Glimmer, we need to talk.”


	7. .:7:.

“What about?” the young queen walked with a most-relaxed air beside her mother. She couldn’t fathom the conversation being very serious. And yet it was - it had to be. 

“You have to stop spying on me.”

“Spying on you? Nobody’s spying on you!” Glimmer drew her head back in surprise.

“Then why did you come to interrogate Shadow Weaver in the middle of the afternoon?”

“You were  _ missing _ ! I got worried.”

“I wasn’t missing - just because I’m spending time somewhere in my home away from prying eyes doesn’t mean I’m missing.”

“Well, I don’t know that!” Glimmer breathed heavily, her voice cracking a step. It was just innocent worry… there was nothing to be paranoid about, surely.

“I’m sorry I troubled you,” Angella placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“It’s fine… you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” They continued to walk along some, worries mostly dispersed. “You must be  _ really  _ bored if you’re willingly talking to Shadow Weaver.”

Oh, they were doing more than talking. Angella chuckled along but it was dry and humorless. “She’s not the worst companion, believe it or not.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, then, I can’t say I’m  _ not  _ bored am I? If you’d at least permit to trail the fringes of the woods, some, maybe--”

“Only if you have guards with you. Ever since Adora healed the planet, a whole bunch of strange magical creatures are returning to the wilderness. I can’t risk you getting hurt.”

“You think I can’t handle myself?” Angella went to trip Glimmer over an elusive fold in the carpet but the queen expertly teleported a few feet ahead without making any indication of noticing. Angella found herself amazed at how much the tables had turned - once, she had been the overbearing mother that wouldn’t send a literal, appointed commanding officer into battle, and now she was the infinitely treasured family member, the loss of which shook her daughter to her very core.

“I’ll be leaving with the best friends squad in a couple of days to see if any of the nearby moons and planets are habitable. If you’re bored, why not hang out with dad then? He could teach you some magic or something.”

“‘Or something’ is more like it,” Angella shook her head. “You father and I aren’t as close as we used to be - besides - he’s busy, I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” A bother. That’s all she was to Bright Moon at this point. Surely.

“Why aren’t you guys close? You missed each other so much and constantly talked about each other.”

“Well, we missed each other, sure, but we’d gotten used to it. We’d accepted it. At least, as much as it hurts to admit, I had.”

“But hanging out with  _ Shadow Weaver,  _ mom?”

“Hasn’t she changed? Whatever she’s done before, she was crucial to your final victory against the Horde - doesn’t that count for something?” 

“I mean, I guess… I don’t know, I just didn’t think that she’d be around for me to mull this moral dilemma.” Something let out an obnoxious series of beeps. “Oh, shoot - I had lunch plans with Bow! See you!” And she disappeared with a small shower of sparks and sparkles.

That was certainly something, wasn’t it? At the very least it was a fuller conversation than any they’d had over dinner recently.


	8. .:8:.

Having been left to her own devices again, Angella retraced her steps back to Shadow Weaver’s quarters. To her dismay, they were empty. 

Now somewhat determined in establishing this little reconnection, she began scouring the cast;e grounds, but the sorceress was nowhere to be found. She searched all day, flying and gliding between courtyards, roofs and balconies until the muscles in her shoulders shook from the effort. Still, no Shadow Weaver.

Angella returned to the quarters one last time, had the audacity to even peek through the windows from the outside, and still. Nothing. 

Glimmer was right about Shadow Weaver getting under her skin - but not in the same way that someone naive and impressionable would end up. No, it was that nostalgic wave of wanderlust and fascination - of wanting to hear what she thought of the world, of wanting to see that cheeky spark in her eyes. Pompous, energetic Light Spinner was still in there - Angella was convinced of it. The events of the previous night wouldn’t have transpired had that not been true in at least some capacity.

The immortal awoke with the dawn that following day, immediately prepared to hop up on her feet and resume her search. Any thoughts of breakfast or morning greetings were cast aside. The once-queen was a woman on a mission.

A mission that was thankfully, not impossible to accomplish. There Shadow Weaver was, wrapped snugly in her flowing dress and shawls, obscured by the opaque mask. Angella dove from the balcony she had been looking out from and landed in front of her target, sending up a sizable gust of wind.

“Looks like any hope of getting peace anymore can be abandoned,” Shadow Weaver coughed, brushing dust from her sleeves. 

“Haven’t you been in solitude enough?” Angella cocked her head hopefully.

“You know, with the events of recent history, solitude has been hard to come by. What do you want from me?”

Any hint of tenderness or warmth was gone from her voice. It was like a switch had been flipped. Angella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you really that interested in wasting your time with me, enough to play therapist, now?” her tone was bitter and unwavering. 

“‘Waste my time’?” Angella echoed, blinking absentmindedly.

“Well, since I’m not doing  _ any _ thing to you.” Shadow Weaver cast her head down, purposefully letting locks of her hair drape over the mask.

“What are you--oh,” Angella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Shadow Weaver was hurt, choosing to present herself as petty and jealous. “I never meant it like that.”

“Then how, pray tell, did you mean it?” the sorceress hissed, crossing her arms across her chest.

“You  _ know  _ what I meant, I’m not holding your hand through my every intention - you’re good at reading people, aren’t you? Isn’t that how you’ve gotten everything you’ve wanted all this time?”

Shadow Weaver took a step back, chest rising and falling heavily. “If you think recounting my grievances is going to help me catch on at all, I’m afraid you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Have you lost your touch enough that you can’t see that I… I still have very warm and tender feelings for you?”

The switch flipped back the other way, but there was still hesitance. “You had those feelings for Light Spinner… you’ve seen that that’s not me.”

“You may not be running about the castle in a bandana and a satchel slung across your shoulder, kicking spears out from under guards but you are still fully capable of being kind, spirited…” 

“Am I?” Shadow Weaver shook her head, audibly swallowed. “I think I’ve had my spirits lifted enough for a while now. Leave me be.” 

“Li--” Angella quickly clamped her hand over her own mouth in shock at herself. How could what she was saying be so discordant from what was underneath?

“Right,” Shadow Weaver turned to walk the other way.


	9. .:9:.

Angella sat perfectly still, huddling her knees to her chest. She pouted, groaned in frustration - how childish, how imprudent of her - how could she act this way, when the amount of time passed since she was a child was now unspeakable? How could she be so impatient? So selfish? She  _ always  _ had to ruin things, hadn’t she? Always… 

For all of Light Spinner’s curiosities, she had always been hungry for more, even then. Sometimes it was an energizing, awe-inspiring thing to see - sometimes it’d be worrying, bordering on frightening. 

And one particular rainy afternoon spent lounging in all-too luxurious quarters, the line between the two grew unimaginably thin. It’d started as a peaceful moment, listening to the patter of droplets on the glass, the slight howl of wind in castle arches. They’d been on their backs, staring contentedly at the ceiling. Light Spinner was gently tugging on one of the queen’s feathers - very carefully, precisely. It took a lot of trust for Angella to even let someone brush their hand along the length of her wings, and here, she had so willingly entrusted their proximity.

Angella had to admit, she’d always loved watching those hands work - magic or otherwise, they--

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

Angella shot her head up in surprise. It was Micah. She breathed a sigh of relief at first but then felt her body tense like never before. It was not a pleasant tension by any means. “Hello,” she answered meekly.

“You really haven’t been yourself lately,” he sat down next to her, mirroring her curled position, careful not to touch her. She smiled at that. He  _ had  _ known her, after all… “That whole immortality thing bothering you again?”

“That’s always bothering me… but no, it’s not that for a change - in fact, I’m not so sure how immortal I even am anymore.”   
“Are you afraid of dying, then?”

“No. I mean a bit, but not currently, that’s not… I just don’t know what I  _ am  _ anymore.”

“Oh, come on, you’re--” he froze, furrowing his brow. “Oh. Wow. Yeah, that’s a loaded question. Um… you’re Glimmer’s mother? My beautiful wife? A part of this family?” 

“Technically, yes,” Angella bit her lip. “But I mean… what purpose do I really serve anymore? All I do is read and fly all day and it’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but I feel a bit caged.”   
“You’re up here because there’s things you regret, aren’t you?” Angella’s eyes went wide. “Don’t act so surprised - I’m your husband, I  _ know  _ you. And I know that when you start talking about being lost and not having a path to follow, you’ve clung onto something in your past; and as we both know, your past is…” 

“Long? Laborious?”

“I was gonna go with rich and vibrant, but sure - your words, not mine.”

They laughed, and it was a light, pleasant sound, but Angella’s stomach churned at the effortlessness with which Micah said: “I’m your husband.”

“If it’s about anything having to do with the Horde, about how that mess started, I want you to know that Glimmer has become an amazing queen - whatever trail you’ve laid, she’s been following it without hesitation.”

“No, it’s more… petty, actually.” Angella carefully tugged on one of her earrings - a point of mention, as now they were rose gold hoops and not pearl droplets.    
“Petty? The queen of Bright Moon being petty? I can hardly imagine that.”

“Well, I’m not the queen anymore, am I?” She turned to look at Micah with a quizzical look. “I’m allowed to be… human, now, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are… you’ve always been allowed to be.”

‘Except I wasn’t,’ she wanted to say so badly, but she couldn’t unload that onto him. She would be beside herself in shame if she were to voice any of those pent up human qualities that had been simmering at the surface. “Free-time is a double-edged sword, isn’t it?” was all she said, letting herself lean onto him. “All the activities in the world, but the mind chooses melancholy retrospection…”

Micah moved to put his arm around her and brushed the base of one of her wings with his knuckles. Having no idea if it were accidental, Angella still found herself flinching off to the side quite violently. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, her heart racing. 

Micah didn’t look hurt, not physically or emotionally - getting bowled over by a wing of that size was a force capable of flinging a small child halfway across the courtyard, sure, but it’s something he’s had to withstand before. A long time ago, sure… “That void really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

“I guess it did,” she nodded, balling herself up tighter. She didn’t want to have to divulge any of this to anyone anymore. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“See you, Angie.”

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Angella scolded herself once Micah had disappeared down the side of the tower. He was supposed to be her spouse, the person she vowed herself to, the person she trusted with any doubts or fears or secrets… but she never trusted him about Light Spinner, not then and not now. Now she found herself even more reluctant to share; reluctant to even let him touch her?

Angella looked defiantly up at the brilliant blue sky, the perfect puffy clouds that seemed to mock her. “No,” she said firmly, no matter how much her voice cracked. “I have every right to change - I’m no longer the queen of Bright Moon.” ‘And I'm no longer the woman that married Micah.’


	10. .:10:.

There was something about the way the gardens smelled that evening that made Shadow Weaver unable to focus on a single one thing. She may have wanted to readjust her collar but she’d catch her nail on a flyaway of hair and having followed it back, an imbalance in the way she’d attached her mask suddenly let itself be known.

She’d forgotten how nice it felt to have the thing off her for a prolonged period, to see the world with her bare eyes. She gave herself the grace of taking it off for a moment, letting her skin breathe in the breeze. There wasn’t a purpose in keeping it anymore, was there? Adora had learned exactly what she looked like, and it was only Adora that mattered… 

Or was she? Her well-being was secured, rivalry with any siding or opposing forces thrown over the shoulder, Shadow Weaver had been prepared to die, she was sure she  _ did,  _ and yet now?

A spectral figure passed overhead - it was Angella, occupying herself however it is she knew how… how she sympathized with that excess energy, her mind constantly wandering, wavering. Rain. That’s what the garden smelled like. Hadn’t it been raining when…? Hm, wandering, wandering… 

Angella tried to only focus on flying. She thought that practicing a difficult maneuver that included but was not limited to an angled free-fall would clear her head, but instead she was just frustrated, and mountingly so. Had she been so frustrated then? Perhaps if she’d been more so… she landed on the balcony of her own quarters, and firmly grasping the railing until her knuckles turned white, watched the sun set.

A sunset would’ve certainly made it more poetic when Light Spinner had let go of the queen’s feathering and propped herself up on one arm. She'd placed her hand then right on Angella’s bare chest, satisfied at feeling the absolute gallop of a heartbeat. “Angel?”

“Mm?” a lazy answer, still half in a daydream.

“I need to ask you a serious question.”

“What about?” Angella had still been in a daze, her mind only slightly cleared. Light Spinner settled for it. 

“About me leaving.”

“Leaving? Why do you have to leave?”

“Well, I’ve got many more Runestones to visit, don’t I? Remember, I told you about how I wanted to see the Selineas gate, and maybe hunt down a couple more of those artefacts on the way, you know the ones, with the First Ones’ scrawl.”

“Is that what’s  _ always  _ on your mind, love?” Angella had answered. To any other person it would’ve been rude, but it was exactly the kind of attitude that thoroughly entertained Light Spinner.

“I came to Bright Moon to learn, to discover, to unearth,” Light Spinner had sat further up and then leaned over her companion, letting her curls of dark hair cascade over one shoulder. Her emerald-green eyes had been soft, doe-like even.

“You discovered me,” Angella had put a hand on Light Spinner’s cheek, caressing her ashen skin.

“Come with me,” the young sorceress had then blurted, clutching onto Angella’s wrist. She then gradually softened the touch so as to not seem brash and moved to intertwine their fingers. “When I go out on the road again - come with me. Imagine the things we could accomplish together - with your wings and our magic, there wouldn’t be a single thing stopping us - we could climb the highest mountain, we could…”

She had looked down to see Angella’s furrowed brow, averted eyes. No matter how much her veins coursed with hope, she already knew the answer.

“I’m the Queen of Bright Moon,” Angella had whispered. “I couldn’t leave my people.”

“Oh, they’ll be fine - you’ve got a whole squadron of advisors and leaders, don’t you? You could finally get out into the world and see it all not just from the pages of a history book…” she had pleaded, her eyes already welling up with tears. It was a conversation they’d had not once, and not twice… and at first it’d been a joke, from each ‘I’m going to steal the queen away on an adventure,’ to each ‘Well, I’d certainly like to see you try’, but as the weeks stretched into months and those amazingly, strung out into years, the attachment, the respect, the… well, everything else, it became more earnest and more resolute.

“You’d wanted to, didn’t you? Didn’t you say once you wanted to?” Light Spinner hadn’t been good at manipulation, spinning compelling tales just yet, then - not when it came to such personal, intimate affairs. “Please.”

But Angella wouldn’t look at her. She was afraid if she had, if she’d looked up at those glassy eyes and saw those trembling lips and quivering ears, that she would’ve said yes. Instead, “I can’t convince you to stay, can I?”

Angella keeled over the balcony railing, clenching her jaw until it began to give her a headache. How had it been a decision that she so easily forgot, so quickly overcame? How could she have brushed it off as just one of those ‘misadventures that inevitably come with eternity’?

In an avalanche of nerves and grief, she brought her fist up and slammed it down on the finely polished stone. If she’d still been connected to the Runestone, there would be nothing left of that railing, and likely a chunk of the balcony as well. Instead, a shock wave of pain coursed from her wrist, all the way to her elbow and even somewhat into her shoulder. She yelped out in pain, jumping back, clutching her hand. 

At one point in her life, she would’ve thought it troubling, thought it absolutely unbefitting of a being such as herself to lose herself like this, to show such a lack of judgement and control and discipline. But today she didn’t care - she grit her teeth but didn’t let the wave of tears that hit her slow their course.

Yes, a sunset would’ve been more poetic, then, because that’s when shadows would begin to shroud over an unsuspecting heart. Rain perhaps would be more fitting now… but the garden already smelled as such, didn’t it?


	11. .:11:.

“Fancy finding you here, Shadow Weaver,” a confident, chipper voice happened to sneak up on the sorceress. 

“I live here now, don’t I?” she quickly collected herself, turning to face Afora with newfound poise.

“Well, yeah, but I mean like…  _ here _ , here. Isn’t this Angella’s room?”

“And so it is,” Shadow Weaver feigned surprise as she looked the doors up and down.

“How have you been holding up?”

“Well enough, I suppose, though the queen is reluctant to let me leave the grounds without supervision, which I frankly find humiliating.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it - I’ll get Glimmer to loosen up a bit more. I mean in general - you know, the way normal people would describe how they’re doing instead of complaining about surveillance?”

“I’m doing fine, Adora.” The war hero still wasn’t satisfied. “...thank you for your concern…” 

Her blue eyes lit up. “There it is! Glad to see that etiquette training with Perfuma is paying off.”

If you could call pleasant ramblings about a mutual hatred of cacti over a cup of tea made by two people who actually know how to make one ‘etiquette training’, Shadow Weaver was ready to let Adora believe whatever she wanted to believe. “How is your Catra?”

“She’s not  _ mine _ , you know she--”

“You’re married.”

“Right, right, right, you’re right. She’s great! We were actually stopping by because we were thinking about renting a flat in the city for a bit, and…” 

Shadow Weaver could not help but be grateful for how casually Adora treated her. The two of them had more gripes than arguably anyone else across Etheria, and yet the young woman was so happy to cling to even the most feeble of roots in the direction of moral improvement. Knowing full well, remembering everything else. 

As Adora talked, the sorceress eyed the finely-crafted doors that led to Angella’s quarters. Was there perhaps a similar story to be told here? 

If Shadow Weaver ever had any doubts that she wanted to visit Angella, they had all dispersed as Adora dragged her away to socialize with her friends and the court. Even with the war finally being over, Adora still served as a guardian and peacekeeper… of personal relations. Shadow Weaver usually wouldn’t willingly get within 10 feet of Glimmer - the queen wouldn’t let her within 15 in the first place, but here they now were, in a cozy circle, making small talk, however disjointed.

Jokes about alcoholism and their past misadventures were pleasant enough to exchange, but it was grueling work that seemed to sap Shadow Weaver for all she had. She was about to finally excuse herself in the midst of a story by Bow about some manner of technology that Entrapta had let him borrow, when the topic shifted in a more interesting direction. 

“Is Angella around at all?” Adora asked.

“She’s sulking,” Glimmer sighed. “It’s a miracle if dad and I see her at dinner.”   
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Bow furrowed his brow.

“Yeah, you could say she’s been having a bit of an existential crisis lately… I don’t know what that space between realities did to her but she’s definitely different.”   
“She’s very jumpy,” Micah added. “Won’t sit still at all - I got a wing to the jaw this afternoon; I know she didn’t mean it, but it pains me to see her that way.”

“It sounds like she’s feeling trapped,” Shadow Weaver chimed in. The company turned to give her a weird look. “It’s a bit cruel to keep such a magnificent being in a cage, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t this her home, though? She’s like super old, lived here all her life?” Catra reasoned. “Besides, what would you know about her? All you did was make creepy propaganda posters of her when we were kids.”

“Oh, I know more about the former Queen of Bright Moon than some of you may ever dream,” Shadow Weaver smirked, directing herself to address Micah specifically, who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. 

“Well, then, Shadow Weaver, if that’s how you’re gonna talk to everyone then Queen Glimmer doesn’t have to hear about your gripes with security today?” Adora put her hands on her hips.

The children mothering the mother… looks like a casual kingdom trend, then, doesn’t it? “I think not then.” Adora’s face clouded with surprise. “I believe it’d only be fair if both prisoners of Bright Moon receive the same conditions of their term.”

“My mother is not a prisoner!” Glimmer snapped, but her fury and lack of dubiety ran rich with insecurity. Shadow Weaver took the rising tension as a great excuse to take her leave - at the end of the day, she’d heard everything she wanted to hear. 

With newfound gusto, she knocked on the door to Angella’s room. A disinterested ‘come in’ sounded from inside and Shadow Weaver entered.


	12. .:12:.

If the grounds of Bright Moon were the metaphorical bird cage in which Angella was locked, then her room was the actual cage. It was dotted with windows and balconies all the way up to the impossibly high ceiling - from outside, this place looked like a tower, but inside it was decked out in spirals of laps, waterfalls, and comfortable perches. The highest of such, Angella sat on, staring apathetically out of a window. Her mind was completely blank - if you read her thoughts, you’d hear only white noise - a unique feature of being immortal, an acquired skill of being able to turn yourself off and not think about  _ any _ thing. 

But Shadow Weaver wanted her attention now - she craved it. So much so, in fact, that she took off her mask and let it noisily clatter to the floor. Angella looked down at her with puffy, unseeing eyes. 

“Moping again, are we?” Shadow Weaver called up. “Gaining a deeper understanding of my sentiments on solitude?”

Only a blink in response.

“Pondering about the past… it’s not going to do you a lot of good, Angel.” Shadow Weaver rolled up her sleeves, satisfied at having seen Angella slightly perk up at the pet name, even if she was still mostly unresponsive.

Shadow Weaver began her ascent of the room. It was built and furnished to house someone with a 15 foot wingspan - so if you couldn’t teleport, you were at a significant disadvantage. She, however, felt herself ready to face the odds, no matter how much her old bones tried to convince her otherwise. “You’re an open book, you know that? No matter how much eternal wisdom you may have, everything you’re feeling, it’s all painted clearly across your face.”   
The dress certainly wasn’t an ideal outfit for jumping between window ledges and these damned, sporadic perches, some wide and cushioned, some just a polished metal bar, suspended and oscillating from the ceiling. 

“I don’t believe in many things,” Shadow Weaver found strength she didn’t know she still had in her upper arms. “But I do believe that everything happens for a reason.”

Angella squinted a bit, methodically popped her knuckles. Still nothing. “If it weren’t for that rainy day,” she continued. “Then you would’ve never married Micah.”

She pushed one of the suspended platforms as hard as she could, let it swing towards her once, and then grabbed on, clutching the cord that held it for dear life. “If you would’ve never married Micah, you wouldn't have ever had Glimmer.” The acute metal craftsmanship of the cord cut incessantly into her palms, but the scar tissue there had grown so rigid she barely noticed. 

“If you didn’t have a daughter, who would’ve rescued you out from the realm between realities?” she had begun to wish she’d tied her hair before she began as it started to fall over her eyes right at the moment when she needed her coordination the most. “And if no one would’ve rescued you…” she held her breath, and using whatever momentum was left in the swinging cord, flung herself over to the nearest empty platform.

She landed on it hard, and not quite, sticking the descent mostly with her ribs, the rest of her threatening to slip off to the floor below - the very, very distant floor below - she growled, cursing her efforts and that perhaps she’d have to start over if she miraculously didn’t land flat on her back. A fluttering of feathers sounded somewhere above her, and then a strong, steady hand grabbed her arm, began pulling her up. “...how would I have ended up here with you?” Shadow Weaver finished, breathless and grinning from ear to ear, brushing off however taut it made her scars feel. 

“Do you mean it?” Angella asked, her eyes wide, bewildered - clearly recognizing only now that Shadow Weaver had scaled this vertical labyrinth for her, without even the aide of magic. For  _ her _ . 

“I choose my words very carefully, I’ll have you know. And…” her throat suddenly went dry, her ears went hot. Surely, if she didn’t say it now, she’d implode with the effort. “I’m… sorry.” 

“‘Sorry’?” Angella laughed in amazement. “Did the callous, unforgivable--”

“Easy up, now.”

“--insufferable, crafty--”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“--downright  _ impossible  _ Shadow Waver just apologize to me?”

“The one and only,” she couldn’t even pretend to be offended. Seeing that bright, (and however tongue-in-cheek it was)  _ angelic _ smile, was worth every insult and demeaning title across Etheria. 

It’d been a goal of hers once - those many years ago - to make the stoic, immortal Princess of Power smile. It was a smile first, given by the most backwards of compliments as possible - “Your wings  _ are  _ nice, but has anyone ever talked about that chin?”, then it was laughter, given by a misguided stacking of scrolls and their subsequent cascade, and from there it was embarrassment, and fear, and excitement, and bashfulness, and oh, each one was such a means to an even sweeter end… they were here - here and now - what else mattered?


	13. .:13:.

Shadow Weaver had her full attention now, had the bright light of the afternoon warming their skin, had her straddled between her legs, hands secure around her wrists. “Come with me,” and she swung her hair over one shoulder for effect, however duller it might’ve been now. “I’ve seen everything about magic I’ve wanted to see, I’ve been ready to pay for it with my life, even. Don’t you want to get out of here?  _ See  _ the world?”

“And you don’t have any power-hungry motives? You’re not after some buried treasure that’ll be the secret undoing of the Princesses of Power and newly-established peace?”

“Why, does such a thing exist?” Shadow Weaver cocked her head to the side, putting on her most innocent-eyed look. 

“You know what I mean, love…” Angella rolled her eyes, even if somewhere down below, there was still that primal worry.

“I’ve got the secret undoing of  _ one  _ of the princesses of power right here,” Shadow Weaver hummed, a hoarse but warm sound and leaned down to softly rake her teeth across Angella’s collarbone. The softest hint of a moan was a clear indicator that it was certainly effective.

Angella freed her hands so she could carefully trace the patterns of scars that danced across Shadow Weaver’s skin… yes, this was indeed Shadow Weaver. This was undoubtedly someone else, even if they were similar, and even if this was still someone that she knew.

Even if it took them another four years, if maybe doubts could be internalized and mistakes amended for, at the end of the day, Light Spinner had put her hair back up and ran off in the midst of a stormy night. It was Shadow Weaver who came back, who tossed her mask aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everybody for sticking around! i hope this was at least a somewhat satisfying end - it's been so long since i've written anything other than like,, AP english essays to be read by someone other than me - i hope it's not too unbearable  
> 


End file.
